She's Gone
by AlexForrest5
Summary: Dean and Jo's goodbye scene from Dean's POV, then him grieving after they return to Bobby's. A story from a few years ago that I'm now uploading here. Hope you enjoy my work - feedback is super-appreciated, including constructive criticism.


Dean kneels beside her, this simple action requiring the kind of effort very few things have. He can fight and kill the most horrific monsters, he can stitch up the worst of his own wounds and shrug it off with a few tequila shots, he can fearlessly stand up to the most terrifying angels and demons – but this, watching Jo sacrifice herself and knowing there's not a damn thing he can do to save her, is a different story.

"This is it," he says quietly, knowing his attempt to sound light-hearted is transparent and weak and not really caring. "I'll see you on the other side." And, having abandoned all hope for a better outcome a long time ago, he adds, "Probably sooner than later."

Jo, stoically withstanding the excruciating pain he knows she's in, actually manages a smile as she hands him one of their sawed-off shotguns. "Make it later," she somewhat playfully admonishes him. He never knew she had this strength in her, this courage, to stare her own grisly death in the eye and _smile_. And now that he knows, it's too late.

He places the trigger in her hand, continuing to hold it with both of his own afterwards. He doesn't want to let go. He's not sure he _can_ let go, in both the literal and figurative sense. But as with most things in this accursed world, as 31 years of life on Earth and another 40 down in Hell have taught him, he doesn't have a choice.

Maybe he can stay another moment, though.

He leans forward to press his lips against her forehead, and though he doesn't see it, he can feel her face crumbling under his touch. Should he do something more to let her know how he feels? Would it matter? If he says "I love you", would it be cheesy, or actually not enough? They lock eyes again, and suddenly, he wants so badly to kiss her. Last night, they almost kissed for the first time but then she thought better of it. But this time, there won't be any more chances, and he meets her lips for a first kiss that's also a last.

He lingers, tries to hold on to the moment, but it's all too short. So he allows himself just another couple of seconds, feeling her face against his and her hair between his fingers, before muttering "Okay". And with that enormous effort he barely has enough strength left for, he walks away.

Three minutes later, the building explodes behind him, and whatever they had, or didn't have, or could have had, is over.

Hours later, Dean finds himself wandering aimlessly through Bobby's house, surrounded by silence. Sam has meekly stated he was going to bed early, and Bobby's retired to his study to do more research on the Horseman of Death, though Dean doubts those endeavors are going to be particularly successful. Castiel seemed to realize there wasn't much he could do to help with the humans' grief, and quietly said he'll come back in the morning.

So Dean's surrounded by silence, and he prefers it this way, because it matches the emptiness inside him. Ellen and Jo are gone. And not only are they gone, they've sacrificed themselves in the name of Sam and Dean's idiotic plan. They had actually believed a solution as simple as the Colt would be enough to take down the devil, when it had failed against lesser enemies before. And the Harvelles have paid the price of this stupidity. There they were, believing they were at least dying to save the world, when in fact their deaths achieved nothing. Lucifer laughed in Sam and Dean's faces and could have killed them in a heartbeat had he wanted to.

Dean finds himself in the room occupied by the ladies the night before. They haven't left any of their belongings there, having apparently taken Castiel's words to heart – that even if they won the battle, they were most likely dead at the end of it. Well, Dean thinks bitterly, Ellen and Jo have died indeed, but the battle was most sorely lost.

A metallic gleam on the small desk in the room suddenly catches his eye. He steps closer to it and sees a short iron knife, with a familiar engraving: W.A.H. His eyebrow creases; he wouldn't have expected Jo to forget taking her father's knife when leaving for the battle to end all battles. He still remembers her telling him about the weapon's significance.

He picks up the knife and absentmindedly examines it, while sitting down on one of the beds. He starts wondering how, in two and a half years, he never once saw Jo, never even talked to her. Why did he bury his feelings for her in his subconscious and walk away? And why did he not acknowledge them until it was too late? He used to think of her as a little girl who was too naïveand vulnerable to get involved in this business, despite knowing that somewhere inside her was the potential to be a lot more. In Carthage, he finally saw she had become that woman. She didn't think twice before charging at the hellhound to save him, and her steely resolve did not once falter when she announced that she was going to stay behind with the bomb, a necessary sacrifice to get them a shot on the devil.

And now she's dead. Torn apart by hellhounds much as he had been. Only there won't be any angels bringing her back to life, because she's not fucking _special_, like he was. No, she's gone, and he's still here, still a soldier in this hopeless war. What little time they could have had together, they've also managed to waste.

He finds that sitting down with these thoughts is unbearable, and gets up to start wandering through the house again, still clutching Bill Harvelle's old knife. Only, this time, he heads to the front door and exits the house. The night is cold, but not as cold as he's feeling inside, so he marches on without hesitation.

He doesn't know how long it is before he unintentionally arrives at a small clearing. Nor does he really know why he proceeds to bend down, lay the knife on the ground and start digging with his bare hands, the action darkly reminding him of the night he made a deal and started this whole mess. Once he's dug a small hole, he gently places the knife inside it.

Suddenly he knows - or maybe decides, or maybe both. They're going to defeat Lucifer and win this war, for the Harvelles' sake. Not for revenge; they've learned the hard way exactly where that road leads. They're going to win so that the sacrifice made by Jo and her mother won't be for nothing. They died knowing they were saving the world, and Dean will be damned if he's going to let their deaths mean anything less than that.

So he purposefully covers the knife with dirt and gravel, until it's safely buried in the ground, then stands up to examine this makeshift grave for a moment. "See you on the other side," he finally murmurs, and then he's gone.

- End


End file.
